After We Fell (After 3)

He flinches at the words. “No. I wouldn’t have. We wouldn’t have been in that . . . situation . . . if you weren’t a virgin.” He’s treading lightly now. Good.

“?‘Situation,’?” I repeat, still irritated. It comes out harsher than I intended.

“Yes, situation.” He abruptly turns me around and lays me back against the mattress. He moves his body on top of mine and pins my wrists up over my head using only one hand and his knees to push open my thighs. “I wouldn’t be able to stand it if you’d been touched by another man. I know it’s fucking crazy, but that’s the damn truth, whether you want to hear it or not.”

His breath is warm against my face, coming out in hot puffs. Momentarily I forget why I’m annoyed with him. He’s being honest, I’ll give him that, but it’s an obnoxious double standard that he’s describing.

“Whatever.”

“?‘Whatever’?” He chuckles, tightening his hand around my wrists. He flexes his hips, pressing his boxer-clad body between my thighs. “Stop being ridiculous, you know how I am.” I feel so exposed right now, and his dominating behavior is turning me on more than it should.

He continues. “And you know you’ve given me new experiences. I’ve never loved anyone, romantically, or even family, really . . .” His eyes drift off to ponder what I guess is a painful memory, but then he quickly returns to me. “And I’ve never lived with anyone. I never gave a fuck about losing anyone before, but when it comes to you, I wouldn’t survive it. That’s a new experience.” His lips ghost over mine. “Is that enough ‘new experience’ for you?”

I nod, and he smiles. If I lift my head up just a centimeter, my lips will touch his. He seems to read my thoughts and pulls his head back a bit. “And don’t throw that bet shit in my face again,” he threatens, rubbing himself against me. A treacherous moan escapes his mouth, and his eyes darken. “Got it?”

“Sure.” I defiantly roll my eyes at him, and he frees my wrists, running his hand down my body, stopping on my hip and squeezing gently.

“You’re being a brat today.” He draws circles on my hip, putting more weight on my body.

I feel like a brat today; I’m hungover and hormonal. “You’re being an ass, so I guess we’re even,” I fire back.

He bites the inside of his cheek, then dips his head down to me. Hardin’s lips are warm as he kisses me along my jawline, sending a direct line of electricity to my groin. I wrap my legs around his waist and close the small space that’s left between our bodies.

“I’ve only loved you,” he reminds me again, soothing the small ache from his earlier words. His lips reach the base of my neck, and one of his hands cups my breast while he uses the other to hold his body up. “I’ll always only love you.”

I don’t speak. I don’t want to ruin this moment. I love when he’s candid about his feelings for me, and for once I can see this all in a new light. Steph, Molly, and half of the dang campus of WCU may have fooled around with Hardin, but none of them, not one single girl, has ever gotten to hear him say “I love you.” They haven’t had, and will never have, the privilege of knowing him, the real him, the way that I do. They have no idea how wonderful and incredibly brilliant he is. They don’t get to hear him laugh and watch his eyes screw shut and his dimples pop. They’ll never get to hear the snippets of his life or hear the conviction in his voice when he swears that he loves me more than breathing. And for that, I pity them.

“I’ve only loved you,” I tell him in return. The love I had for Noah wasn’t anything beyond family. I know that now. I love Hardin in that all-consuming, incredible way that I know, deep down, I will never feel again.

I feel Hardin’s hand move to his boxers. He tugs them down, and I use my feet to help him get rid of them. In a gentle motion, he slides into me, crying out as he plunges through the slick opening.

“Again,” he begs.

“I’ve only loved you,” I repeat.

“Fucking Christ, Tess, I love you so much.” The words are a raw confession as they push through his gritted mouth.

“I will always only love you,” I promise him. I send a silent prayer that we’ll find a way to work through all of our problems, because I know what I just said is true. It will always be him. Even if something drove us apart.

Hardin’s thrusts are deep, filling and claiming me as he bites and sucks at the skin on my neck with his warm, wet mouth.

“I can feel you, every single inch . . . you’re so fucking warm . . .” he groans, making it known that he hasn’t put a condom on. Even through the euphoric trance, warning bells go off in my head. I blink the sensation away and revel in the feeling of Hardin’s strong muscles straining under my hands as I run my hands over his broad shoulders and inked arms.

“You have to put one on,” I say, though my actions are the opposite of my words; I tighten my legs around his waist, drawing him deeper. My stomach begins to coil, tightening . . .

“I . . . can’t stop . . .” His pace quickens, and I think I’ll snap in two if he stops now.

“Don’t, then.” We’re both insane, not thinking clearly, but I can’t stop raking my nails down his back, encouraging him.

“Fuck, come, Tessa,” he instructs me as if I have a choice. As I reach the brink of orgasm, I’m afraid I may pass out from the amount of pleasure I feel when his teeth graze across my chest, tugging, marking me there. With another groan of my name and a declaration of his love for me, Hardin halts his movements, and he pulls himself out of me, releasing himself onto the bare skin of my stomach. I watch in awe as he touches himself, marking me in the most possessive way while never breaking eye contact.